Nothing To Remember
by mimujer
Summary: They were children, with families and friends and lives beyond the games. But once they were dead, they were easily forgotten. Just another death on the TV screen. One shot based on the 46th annual Hunger Games.


The reaping went the same as every year. The children gathered in the square, dressed in their best clothes, preparing for the cameras to start rolling to broadcast live across the nation.

In district 10, days were spent tending to livestock. As the filming began, the distant sound of the animals calling to their owners could be heard in the background.

The names were called out after the introduction was given. Girls always went first.

Hardie Fiora.

A small, skinny girl with mossy brown hair took to the stage. She was the daughter of one of the district's most well known farmers. Her hands were still grubby from working on the fields all night; no matter how much she cleaned them, the dirt never seemed to come off. It was now the colour of her skin.

A woman could be heard crying in the crowds, burying her head into a man's chest. Two girls of the same age became restless. Hardie shared a look with a boy somewhere closer to the back who looked like he, too, was trying not to cry. But nobody volunteered for her. Nobody wanted to save her.

She was the district 10 female tribute for the 46th Hunger Games.

Her partner took to the stage next, an older boy with equally messy hair, slim arms and dirty hands. They knew each other from school, before they had both left at 15 to work, but that was all. As they shook hands, his grip was tight. He was sizing her up ready to fight in a few days time. Like she was an animal.

Hardie took a deep breathe, her eyes surprisingly dry, her mouth drawn in a straight line as she waved out to the people of the Capitol. This was her life now.

* * *

Hardie was on stage with Caeser Flickerman, who was ushering her forward to large armchairs closer to the audience. Her stylist had dressed her in earthy colours, and she was wearing a scarf made from the skins of the animals that she often cared for at home.

At aged 16, she'd learned last year how to kill an animal humanly, and her father had soon after taught her how to cut them to produce the best meat. They hardly ever got to keep any of the food for themselves.

Caeser Flickerman was the newest interviewer for the Capitol, a younger man with his black hair, this year, slicked up into a bun. Under the studio lights, he looked at least 10 years older.

When he asked Hardie if she had produced the animal skin she was wearing, she stared out blankly at the audience, causing them to laugh at her in response.

Caeser quickly hurried on, placing his hand on her knee to encourage her to speak.

"Now, Hardie, what skills do you plan to demonstrate when in the arena?"

"I know a lot about wild food, I know what's poisonous and would know how to live off the land if I had to."

She could already sense her mentor shaking his head backstage. She wasn't going to get any sponsors if all she planned to do was survive.

"My father… he's one of the best farmers in my district. He's taught me how to kill unwanted predators, like foxes, that threaten our livestock. I'm not afraid to kill."

"Looks like we've got a bloodthirsty one here, haven't we, folks?" Every time Caeser spoke, he directed his speech to the audience. Everything was for show. "Well, I wish you all the best in the games, Hardie. I'm sure I speak for everyone when I say I can't wait to see you in action in the arena."

Hardie nodded, and the Capitol was done with her.

* * *

She never learned the name of the other tributes she was facing. She treated them like they were cattle raised only for meat; if she didn't name them, it would make it easier.

What she had failed to tell Caeser, or her mentor who had told her she gave off a perfect indifferent and inhumane attitude in her interview, was that even without names, she still found killing difficult. She still wasn't used to it. But at least she had managed to fool most of the Capitol.

None of the other tributes attempted to speak to her in training. Her district partner did the same, kept close to himself, training with a bow and arrow in the corner of the room. Hardie spent her time trying to improve her trap making skills.

When it came to the assessment by the game makers, she had stabbed a manikin in all of the places that would result in enough blood loss to prove fatal. She had received a 7.

That night, she sat up in her bed—much too big for her alone—instead of attempting to sleep. In their bedrooms, the tributes could change the scenery outside the window like it was a TV screen, reflecting each of the districts. Hardie switched to the channel for 10, and was suddenly looking out at fields full of grazing animals, a sunny day, like she could almost smell the grass.

That was the first time she cried.

So she switched it over, and took her time studying the other views belong to each of the districts. She looked out at the corn fields in 11, the concrete jungle full of train lines and factories in 3, the vast oceans and coast lines of 4.

She had known all along that she couldn't kill these children, not when she was sure they would cry when looking out at their homes as she had. They had families that loved them and they had friends that would miss them. They weren't animals on farms, they were people.

* * *

The outfit given to the tributes for their arena was light weight and breathable. Hardie's stylist told her that it meant the arena was probably going to be hot.

When she was pushed up into daylight, she found that he had been right. She and the 23 other tributes were in a vast field, its grass turned yellow from the burning heat, surrounded by a desert.

As she looked around at her competitors, they did the same. The boy from 2 smiled at her—but it was not comforting or friendly.

When the canon sounded at the end of the countdown, Hardie leapt from her podium and headed toward the cornucopia. She was by no means the fastest, but she managed to reach the destination before a lot of the others had. Quickly, she picked up a backpack and then headed towards the surrounding rocky hills of the arena. As she went, she dodged the other tributes, almost ended with a knife in her back, but managed to get away.

Huddled up in a cave, on her own, Hardie listened to the sound of cannon's going off as the careers hunted everyone down in the bloodbath.

The day had been hot, unbearably so, but it was no worse than the chill that overtook the desert during the night. Even in the dark of her hiding spot, with only a flashlight from her backpack to illuminate her way, she could see her breath escaping from her mouth. She knew she needed to leave, find water, get a weapon, but she was frozen to her spot—out of fear and out of exhaustion. There were wild animals all around, not just the other children, but mountain lions on the prowl in the night and birds flying over head, looking for bodies to feed from before they were taken by the Capitol's aircraft.

She counted 8 dead on the first night.

She found it easier to move around then, when it was dark, when the other tributes took the opportunity to rest away from the burning sun. She had gone back to the cornucopia, slipped past the careers, all covered in blood, just as the person on watch had nodded to sleep, and taken a small knife when she couldn't find any water in plain sight.

The same night, much later on, the career pack passed her cave while back on prowl. They looked shone their torches into it to see if they could find anyone, but she had moulded her body away into the walls and they passed on soon after.

Another 7 faces in the sky on the next night.

She came across a family of lions the same day and had set back on the move, trying to avoid any conflict. She left behind a bird she had trapped and planned to eat, hoping it would distract them while she got away, quietly but quickly. Perhaps she could've taken on one, but not while they were in a pack.

A stray thought crossed her mind once, of how boring she must have been to watch in the Capitol. The only present she ever got from a sponsor was a small flask of water, so she assumed that all other parachutes were being sent down to the much stronger tributes in the arena.

By the third night, she had managed to survive just by moving from cave to cave, finding odd bits of food left behind on rotting carcasses. She knew that if the prey wasn't good enough for the animals of the arena, she shouldn't be eating it either, but by then her hunger was so persistent that she managed to stomach the raw meat well enough.

The same night while moving around, she was spotted by someone. Growing delirious, she moved her flashlight up to their face, not only exposing them but also her. It was the boy who had come with her from home. They stared at each other for a moment, their eyes adjusting to the light, before he charged at her. She had been right about him all along.

The chase began as he attempted to catch her, their footsteps on the sand awakening the family of mountain lions in the cave from the first night. Thinking quickly, Hardie discarded her backpack from her shoulder just as he began to send arrows in her direction, causing him to trip up and land on the still warm desert sand, but not before one arrow had lodged into her thigh, causing her to fall.

But she quickly got herself back onto her feet and carried on running, slower now that her leg throbbed, not looking back as she heard his screams while the lions devoured him while still alive.

The cannon went off in the distance, but she could still hear it ringing loud as she moved further away. And although she hadn't been the one to attack him, she knew it was her first kill.

The screaming had alerted the career pack that there were tributes still alive so far into the desert. Hardie hurried into a cratered area of rock, slumping onto the ground as she watched over the rock wall as they found the dead body from 10.

She turned back to her wound, the arrow still protruding from the back of her thigh, and she began to pull it out as quickly as she could, biting back her winces so she wouldn't make any sound. But she knew it was no luck. The commotion caused meant they knew someone was near, had narrowed it down to the last few tributes remaining. They knew she was alive, somewhere, and with the wound in her thigh, she found it hard to move. The longer she sat, the more sand found its way into her cut, making it even more painful.

Looking over the rocks again, she could see them splitting up to find her. And even though she had theorised that she could kill if one was alone, she knew now that even then it would be too difficult. The burly boy from 1 was walking in her direction, brandishing a spear, ready to drive it into her stomach and finish her off.

Hardie looked up at the sky, at the fake stars given to them by the gamemakers. They were still beautiful. Her sight drifted down to the arrow she was holding in her hand, half of its head still in tact while the rest remained in her leg.

She ripped open her shirt to expose the bare skin on her chest, and thought of home as she drove the weapon into her abdomen, knowing that it was the most humane location to kill an animal. More humane than waiting for death. Knowing now that they were no more than animals, in the whole scheme of things.

One of the arena cameras zoomed onto her body as it slumped down against the wall, covered in its own blood, and the gamemakers sounded off the cannon. She was carried off by an aircraft soon after, but not before the image of her suicide could be painted onto the screens of everyone watching.

Somewhere, a mother was crying in response, being cradled by her husband. Two girls were restless, and a boy was finally allowing himself to cry.

No, she hadn't been an animal. The sun had driven her mad. None of them were animals. They were all just pieces of a sick game.

* * *

The winner of the 46th Hunger Games had been the girl from 2, who took on the girl from 1 while the other boys attacked each other. Once she had finished her off, she stabbed one of the boys in the back just as he sent the other boy a fatal blow.

When she was paraded in front of the Capitol, she was forced to rewatch the whole games again, rewatch all of the 23 deaths. She pretended to smile the whole time.

The boy from 10 that had been ripped apart by lions was heavily covered. Briefly, Hardie was on the screen, watery eyes looking up into a camera before taking her own life. Then they moved on, and she was forgotten.

Just another one of the many dead children.


End file.
